


Whisper Down The Nein

by everything555everything, Flavortext, Fuzzyface, MamzelleCombeferre



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Critical Robin, F/F, F/M, Magical Artifacts, Miscommunication, Multi, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 01:15:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15741141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everything555everything/pseuds/everything555everything, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flavortext/pseuds/Flavortext, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuzzyface/pseuds/Fuzzyface, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MamzelleCombeferre/pseuds/MamzelleCombeferre
Summary: An easy mission leaves the Mighty Nein with far too much time on their hands to think about their feelings for each other. Everyone tries to be a good friend and wingman. Along the way, a few details get mixed up.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Critical Role Round Robin fest on tumblr! This fic is a collaborative work between fuzzy-face, mamzellecombeferre, criticaldemiplane, and osroshallward. Each of us wrote a chapter except for me (fuzzy-face), who wrote both the first and last chapters. This was an amazing experience and I'm so happy to have worked with such talented people. Find all of us on tumblr, urls the same as spelled above. 
> 
> This chapter written by Fuzzyface

Beau had a problem.

Not right that second, unless you counted feeling footsore and more than a little used. The constant trudge from Zadash to some shithole town and back again was tiring enough when they were actually doing something worthwhile, but she was starting to think they were just being fucked with at this point.

Errands, they’re running _errands_ for the guy now. “Reconnaissance,” he’d said with a slippery smile, as if none of them could use basic insight.

“To... pick some shit up off the ground?” Yasha questioned flatly, staring at the somewhat damp man in front of them.

The Gentleman’s smile faltered for just a second before resuming its place. “I would have thought you, perhaps, would understand the danger that war presents.” His eyes were glued firmly to the sword strapped to her back. “Particularly to sensitive information.”

“With all due respect,” Fjord added in quickly, “isn’t there anyone a little less… qualified, who could take this on instead? It seems wasteful, is all, sending seven people to do a one-man job.”

“Seven very strong, _very_ busy people,” Nott added loudly from the back.

The Gentleman’s mouth stretched into a tight-lipped grin. “Certainly there are others I would have sent before you, but as you may remember they’re currently in Empire custody.”

“So what, are we supposed to be breaking them out or something?” Beau asked.

“No,” The Gentleman replied, his unreadable gaze shifting to her, “I am more than confident in their ability to take care of themselves. And if they cannot, then they are no longer any use to me regardless. I simply need you to retrieve the contents of their camp that were left behind. Preferably before _either_ army comes across it.”

Jester tipped her head slightly, leaning forward on her elbows. “So what’s all this super secret stuff then?”

One eyebrow raised in her direction. “That’s none of your concern. But I would say that if you have any interest in continuing your employment here, you should retrieve it for me as soon as possible.” His eyes fell to Nott. “In _full_.”

Nott’s ears twitched, tiny shoulders squaring in reply. “And should we be expecting gold for this, or just your endless appreciation?”

His smile edged further into a grimace. “You will be compensated.”

“Right, I think we get it,” Fjord said, in the voice he always used when he was just trying to stop anyone else from speaking first. Beau tried and failed not to roll her eyes. 

“You ever get the feeling he just sends us off to do whatever shit he doesn’t feel like dealing with?” She asked, falling into step beside Fjord as they made their way back out through the empty night streets of Zadash. “Like he’s just trying to get rid of us or whatever.”

“Wasn’t ever under any other impression, actually.” Fjord shrugged one shoulder. “The man has a blood cult at his beck and call, I don’t particularly think he cares what we do s’ long as we’re not a problem.”

Beau snorted. “Maybe we oughta start being a problem, keep him from getting too comfortable.”

“Good idea,” he said, clapping her awkwardly on the shoulder. “Let’s save that one for later.”

Truthfully, though, being sent on waste of time missions wasn’t at the top of Beau’s list of concerns. At worst, what, they get some easy gold and maybe even pick up some worthwhile information? It wouldn’t even take long; they’d already be halfway across no-man’s land by now if they hadn’t unanimously agreed to stop at the last town that wasn’t under active martial law. The Gentleman could send them on whatever bullshit errands he wanted, but he couldn’t stop them from getting a drink and forty winks in a decent bed first.

No, Beau didn’t give a shit about any of that, because her thoughts had been on something much more pressing for the past several days. Something tall and powerful, with wild hair and - 

Yasha, it was Yasha.

This, thing - Friendship? Flirtation? - she had with her was never supposed to be a problem. The opposite, if anything. It was fun, hitting on her every once in a while. Yasha was a good sport about it, and Beau wasn’t gonna pretend she wasn’t enjoying herself as well. After all, she had _eyes_ , and Yasha was almost unfairly hot. But she never let herself think that anything was actually going to come of it; she knew better than that.

It wasn’t _fair_ though, because Yasha wasn’t just some big surly girl with a sword like Beau imagined back when she first tossed her over her shoulder and Beau thought, okay, she could get used to this. Yasha was soft and kind. Huge, sure, but _gentle_ in a way that made Beau’s heart hurt sometimes. Suddenly, Beau’s shitty icebreakers and poorly-timed jokes didn’t just seem like a way to startle a laugh out of her, because they were turning into conversations that she never wanted to end. 

Beau was live-and-let-live; always had been and always would be. She didn’t need someone to spill their guts to her, and usually she didn’t even want them to. But she was starting to think she was one more small, firelit smile away from grabbing Yasha by the shoulders and begging her to tell her what it was that was keeping her so distant and what the _hells_ any of them had to do to make it stop.

It sucked. It _sucked_ because there was nothing she could do except stew in her stupid inconvenient feelings until she died because she’s pretty sure that’s exactly what would happen regardless if she ruined this - _whatever_ \- that she had with these people. It was still new and fragile and it meant so much to her that it made her sick. 

What was even her best-case scenario here? She lets herself get attached to Yasha and then - then what exactly? She vanishes into a storm one night and never comes back this time? She takes the big hit in a fight and doesn’t get up? All of them were already playing with fire just being alive and trying to keep it that way.

Maybe it was a shitty way of looking at things, but it was starting to look preferable to thinking about certain other topics.

She desperately, desperately needed something else in her head other than how badly she wanted to know how it would feel to stand on her toes and kiss Yasha. Whether her muscular arms would be strong or gentle around her waist, whether, if she just asked, she would let Beau take her by the hand and lead her to her bed for the night -

“Right, okay, I think I get it,” Fjord interrupted with an awkward wave of his hand. Beau sighed, staring intently into her half-empty glass of ale. It was her, third? Fourth? She’d lost count, but the room was starting to take on a comfortable hazy edge.

“I’m so fucked,” she groaned.

Fjord drummed his fingers lightly against the bar, looking way too sympathetic for someone who was barely more sober than she was. “Not t’ state the obvious, but have you tried telling her any of this?”

“No, I - gods, kind of??” Beau shook her head, burying her face in her hands. “She’s always so _nice_ about it and I always fucking chicken out. I don’t know if she’s trying to - to let me down gently or she’s just not interested or if she’s just being… Yasha or _what_.”

“Listen,” he said, taking a sip from his own glass, “I don’t claim to understand Yasha anymore’n you do, but I think I understand what you see in her.”

“Yeah?” Beau mumbled warily.

“I respect her,” he said, leaning back a moment to glance across the room to where she sat, nursing an ale in solitude by the door. Beau forced herself not to look the same way. “She’s clearly got a lot goin’ on, and I know she keeps to herself most of the time, but she always shows up when we need her. Think that must mean somethin’”

“You think?”

“Sure,” he replied. “And, I mean, I think it’s worth sayin’ that she seems to enjoy spendin’ time with you-”

“Nooo,” Beau groaned, pressing the heels of her hands sullenly over her eyes. “Do _not_ try to get my hopes up here, Fjord.”

He laughed, slapping her lightly on the back. Or as light as he could be after three tankards. “You’re gonna be just fine.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled into her hands. She sat back up, watching stars swim and blink across the wall in front of her as her vision came back. The sight made her stomach lurch. “Fuck. Should’a eaten somethin’ before this bullshit.” She hiccupped and groaned.

“You wanna turn in?” Fjord asked, setting a steadying hand on her shoulder before she swatted it away irritably.

“No,” she said, sliding off her stool. “But I’m gonna anyway.” A brief pause. “Thanks Fjord. For, uh, -” She waved her hand noncommittally. “You know,” she mumbled.

“I know,” Fjord said, with a grin that was almost cheeky. 

“Yeah, shut up,” she said, trying to give his shoulder a good old friendly punch but missing almost completely. “Fuck it. Goodnight.”

“G’night,” Fjord replied, lifting what was left of his glass and downing it in one mouthful. Show off. What did he do to deserve that constitution anyway? One of these days she was going to drink him under the table. Someday, maybe, when she was party drunk and not sad drunk. She’d made that mistake before.

“Jester!” She called, pausing at the edge of the stairs. A few faces turned in annoyance, none of them blue and none of them anyone whose opinion she gave a shit about anyway. “Jester, I’m going up to bed now!”

If there was a response she sure as hell couldn’t hear it, but from the far side of the tavern a blue hand shot up, waved once, and disappeared. Beau grinned despite herself, catching herself on the railing before she finally staggered upstairs for what she hoped would be empty, dreamless alcohol sleep.

She tried not to get her hopes up too much.

~ . ~ . ~ . ~

“So what was _that_ about?”

Fjord sighed before he even turned around, which felt rude, really, because it could have been anyone talking to him, and generally Molly prefered to have actually _done_ something before he was being given that look.

“Nothin’,” Fjord replied after a moment, going for a sip from his tankard before finally seeming to notice it was empty. Molly grinned as Fjord shamefacedly flagged down the bartender, springing onto the empty stool beside him.

“Really?” He asked, wobbling only for a moment. He lounged gracefully out on his elbows, stretching comfortably into Fjord’s personally space. Alright, so maybe he was starting to feel the drinks at this point, but luckily he didn’t need to be sober to watch his friend shift uncomfortably and pretend he wasn’t. Fjord was so _fun_ sometimes, Molly understood why Jester liked to tease him so much too. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that many feelings on Beau’s face before. It was disturbing, really.”

Fjord shrugged, gratefully accepting his newly-filled glass. Molly’s certainly had better things to do all night than stare at Fjord across the room, but he’s fairly certain this was at least his fourth drink. It occurred to him that he’d never seen his roommate truly, properly plastered, and he couldn’t help the way his tail twitched excitedly at the thought. 

“Think she just wanted, y’know, a shoulder to cry on,” Fjord said, bringing the glass to his lips. “Not, uh, literally.”

“Hmm?”

“She just-” he paused, looking somewhat conflicted, “ah hell, you know.”

“Not sure I do, actually,” Molly said. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the insufferable tedium of the past few days, but he was more curious than he’d like to admit and Fjord was certainly easier to ply than Beau. More fun, too.

Fjord huffed softly, turning to face him finally. “Come on, Molly, don’t act like you haven’t noticed.” At Molly’s blank stare he drummed his nails into the counter, visibly uncomfortable. “Her and -” His vague gesture landed somewhere near the door, and finally it clicked.

His delighted bark of a laugh almost startled him; it definitely turned a few confused heads. He couldn’t care less, slapping the bar with an open palm as he tried desperately to pull in enough breath to speak. Fjord looked like he sincerely wanted to tip him out of his chair. “Oh my gods, she actually admitted it? In words, out loud? I asked her about it once and she tried to take my head off.”

“I think she was hoping to take a little weight off her shoulders,” he replied, more into his glass than to Molly.

“I think she was drunk,” he cackled. He shook his head with a loud jangle, clutching Fjord’s arm desperately before he toppled straight off his stool. “So what’d you tell her, sailor? Should we expect Jester to need a new room anytime soon?”

“Gods, Molly - No, nothin’… nothin’ like that,” Fjord made a half-hearted effort to shrug Molly’s arm off. He’d held it together impressively long, but Molly could see the dark green creeping up his neck and cheeks now. He grinned toothily. “I just told her to, y’know, trust her gut.”

Molly snatched his hand away like he’d been burned. He hoped his face looked properly appalled because, _really_. “That’s terrible advice!”

Fjord raised an eyebrow. “Thanks, Molly, I appreciate it.”

“No, gods, think of who you’re talking to here,” he paused with a small huff, trying to collect his thoughts through the warm haze of alcohol. “Listen, I love Yasha, alright? She’s an angel, I mean it. And as much as I can’t understand her tastes, I want her to be happy. And you’re telling me, as her friend, that I should leave that up to _Beauregard’s_ charisma?”

Fjord chewed thoughtfully at his bottom lip. “Maybe Yasha’ll say somethin’ to her first.”

Molly stared at him, open-mouthed. “That’s it,” he said. He turned to the somewhat harried bartender, rapping his claws against the top of the counter. “I’ll take two of your strongest, in the biggest glasses you have.” How much would that cost? Fuck it. He slid two gold pieces across the bar. “Keep the change.”

“Molly, hang on,” Fjord caught him roughly by the coat sleeve, which was more than a little unnecessary when he hadn’t even moved yet. “I _really_ think Beau would appreciate if this stayed between as few people as possible.”

“You think so little of me,” he said cheerfully, nodding as he accepted the mugs. “I’m just going to talk to her. See how she’s feeling, maybe slide a few hints her way. Nothing she could take the wrong way.”

“Molly,” Fjord repeated, looking distinctly unconvinced.

“That’s my name,” he replied, hopping lightly off the barstool and sending warm ale dribbling down over his sleeves. “Have a little faith in me, I wouldn’t do anything if I wasn’t certain of it.”

Fjord looked like a good part of him wanted to say something else, but whatever part wanted more to sit and nurse the rest of his drink in peace won out. “S’ your call,” he shrugged.

“Such a gentleman.” Molly’s grin showed all his teeth, and his mock bow sent a good bit more booze spilling out across the floor.

~ . ~ . ~ . ~

The tavern was a good bit busier than what she was usually comfortable with, but Yasha couldn’t say she wasn’t having an okay time. The crowd was more war refugees than not, and they seemed more interested in having a drink in peace than starting bar fights or dancing on tables. The ale wasn’t half bad either, and they had enough money to keep it coming. She felt… comfortable.

It was a relatively new feeling, since she’d left the circus. Peace of mind had never come easy to her, whether it was a result of her restlessness or a cause of it. For the first time in a while, though, she was finding that the longer she stayed, the less anxious she felt. The itch that was always under her skin was beginning to fade.

Really, the thought made her more nervous than anything else.

Almost compulsively, she found herself set up near the door, legs stretched across three of the table’s four chairs in the clearest gesture of “don’t try it” she could pull off. It wasn’t hard to keep an eye on everyone in the small room, which brought a strange wash of relief. Leftover bouncer’s instincts, she supposed.

A few tables over, Jester had inserted herself into a betting pool of some sorts. Yasha couldn’t tell what it was exactly they were playing, but whatever it was she doubted Jester was playing fair. She hadn’t yet had nearly enough drinks to be interested in getting any closer, but she’d promised Jester that she’d help out if needed.

As if on cue, Jester guestered very suddenly and frantically in her direction. The stares of several rather drunk, rather irritated halflings followed. Yasha met their gazes cooly, casually flexing an arm as she reached for her tankard. The blood left their faces as quickly as they scrambled to back away from Jester. She grinned hugely in Yasha’s direction, blowing her a kiss before reaching to scoop several coins from the table.

It was a relief that all eyes were off her now, because sword or not she didn’t think anyone would be intimidated by the bright red flush that crept up her cheeks. She wasn’t one to care much how she looked to others, but sometimes she wished that her face didn’t show every emotion in bright splashes of pink no matter how hard she worked to keep her expression even.

Usually though, it wasn’t so hard. She wasn’t entirely proud of it, but she knew that life had built up a solid, powerful mask for her. It protected her from looking too weak, from getting too attached, from letting anyone get so far inside her head that they could hurt her. She was rarely even aware she was wearing it, unless she felt someone slipping their hands underneath and lifting it away. And lately those hands were small, soft, and undeniably blue.

It was… funny, almost. She would never have thought Jester was her type. She’s didn’t even know if she had a type, it was a concept usually so far from her mind, but now all she could think of was freckles and mischievous laughter and full-moon eyes. It was nothing either strength or distance could fix, not this time, and she was running out of other options.

Jester was cute and fun and exciting and everything Yasha thought she didn’t need - didn’t deserve - in her life, and it wouldn’t be so bad if she could just keep her in her head and in her sight and otherwise as far away as possible. But Jester found a friend in anyone who didn’t try to kill her first, which was the only reason Yasha could think of for why the tiefling always seemed so happy to see her. There was never any hesitation, any resentment, just a crushing hug, a warm hand against her back, a presence beside her when she was least expecting it.

She had kind of understood, with Mollymauk. Both of them were so alone when they met, two empty people holding onto one another just so they had something to ground themselves. And even then, it had taken months before she’d let herself accept that Molly saw her as a friend, no matter how often she drifted. She didn’t understand what someone like Jester needed her for. Nobody else treated her with the same kind of open, undisguised fondness. 

Except for, well. Except for Beau. But Beau was… Beau was like that with lots of girls. Teasing and awkwardly affectionate. Yasha didn’t understand how much of Beau was genuine, and how much was the same sort of act she put on herself. Beau was loud and dramatic and tried a little too hard to be funny, and Yasha liked that about her. But it wasn’t anything she was willing to let herself read into.

It was selfish of her, she knew, but sometimes she allowed herself the warmth that pooled in her gut when Jester grinned at her. Unrequited attraction wasn’t going to end the world, and it didn’t change the fact that she had larger priorities in life. It was a guilty pleasure, and guilty she was.

She took another long drink.

“Yasha!”

She didn’t need to look up to know it was Molly. If not by the voice than certainly by the way his jewelry clinked gently as he walked. Equally obvious was the loose slur of his speech, the way he dragged her name out to several syllables more than it needed to be.

“Molly,” she replied, watching as he trotted over, two oversized glasses of ale sloshing precariously in his hands. He paused beside her table, wobbling a moment before finding his balance.

“Yasha, my most favorite person in every plane of existence,” he drawled.

“No,” she said.

“I didn’t even ask you anything yet, dear.” The tankards hit the table with a satisfying thud and a splatter of ale. “I thought I would join you in self-imposed exile.”

“I like it over here,” she said. “It’s quiet. Good vantage point.”

“Have I ever told you how fun you are at parties?” 

“No,” she replied, bringing her own glass to her lips and downing what was left. “Yes. Usually when you want me to do something.” Without looking up, she kicked one foot back to the ground. Molly dropped into the newly-freed seat with a satisfied smile.

He passed her one of the mugs, which she accepted with a small nod. The glass was enormous, even with some of its contents on the floor, but Yasha was certain she’d have to drink three of them to get as drunk as Molly already was. He was, as some people would say, a lightweight.

“How are you, Mollymauk?” She asked.

“Enjoying the night,” he replied, clinking his glass to hers. “New town, new people. It’s almost like being with the circus again.”

She shrugged. “I had to throw more people when we were with the circus.”

He laughed too loudly and nearly completely missed his mouth as he brought his glass up to his face. A small grin tugged at the corners of her lips.

“You could still do that if you want, you know,” he said, leaning back on his chair. “Matter of fact, I think there’s people who’d pay you for the pleasure.”

She stared at him blankly. “I don’t think they would hire me here,” she said.

“Not what I meant,” he sighed. “Yasha, you’re a catch. You know that, right?”

Her last mouthful of alcohol got caught halfway down her throat, and she grimaced painfully as she forced it down. “I don’t think that’s true,” she said finally, hating how tense her voice sounded. “And either way, I am-”

“Busy, yes, you’re busy, I know,” Molly finished with a wave of his hand, “but you’re still a living, breathing woman, Yasha. Do you ever think about what the sort of thing you might like is? Past, present, or future - makes no difference.”

She wrapped her hands tightly around her mug, eyes down. “No,” she said. “I don’t really think about… that sort of thing. It’s not important.”

“You don’t ever think about what _you_ want?”

“No,” she said firmly. For once she had no earthly idea what had prompted one of Molly’s bizarre and far too intimate interrogations, and it didn’t matter. He should know she wouldn’t tell him anything different.

Molly’s mouth shifted slightly; not quite a frown, not a smile. His red eyes were unreadable. “Okay,” he said finally, leaning forward every so slightly. “Do you ever think about what other people might want, then?”

Yasha sat up sharply, mug falling back to the table with a weighty thud. “You’re over here for a reason, Molly,” she said. It wasn’t a question. The vague expression on Molly’s face slid into a smug, languid smile.

“Guilty,” he admitted. At the stony look he received in reply, he held his hands up apologetically. “Yasha, as a friend, hear me out on this one. Please?”

Against every instinct in her body, her gaze softened somewhat. “I- I want to be clear that I am not interested in being set up with anyone. I know you enjoy that sort of thing, but I am fine without that sort of… amusement from strangers.”

“I’m not suggesting anything of the sort,” he said. “Quite the opposite, in fact, I promise.”

She eyed him warily. “I’m not sure I understand.”

Molly laced his fingers together, resting his chin neatly on top of them to look her in the eye. “Yasha,” he said, “purely hypothetically, how would you feel if someone was interested in you? Really, properly into you I mean, lying awake thinking of love poems and everything.”

Her mouth suddenly felt very, very dry, and it took a moment of work to get words to form. “I- I don’t really-” This was useless. She shook her head, doing what always seemed to work when words didn’t and letting the crackle of arcane emotion run through her body. In her hands, a chip of polished wood broke free and clattered to the floor. 

Molly, for his part, just stared in drunken wonder. A startled laugh bubbled out from his throat. “Is that a good sign?” He asked. “Or should I tell her to flee the continent?”

“Molly,” she said, almost pleadingly. Then froze. “‘Her’?”

“You might know her,” he said, tipping his head to the side with a clink of jewelry. “Heart of gold. Kind of a blue thing going on?”

Yasha blinked once, twice. The electric feeling in her veins was gone, replaced with a rush of heat that spread through her chest, heavy and overwhelming. Molly giggled softly, waving a hand in front of her face.

“Yasha? Are you-”

“Yes, okay, I get it,” she bit out tersely, and with that the last of the anger was gone. She sank limply back into her seat, slowly lifting her glass to her mouth and drinking until the rush in her head was from alcohol only. “How did you- Did she tell you?” She asked finally, not meeting his eyes.

“I’m a very good listener,” Molly slurred cheerfully. He leaned over, drumming his fingers against the back of her hand. It wasn’t quite calming. “I didn’t think you’d feel so strongly.”

“I-” Yasha sucked in a breath, shaking her head again. “I didn’t think she-”

“Yasha! Molly!”

A small bag hit the table with a loud metal clatter, followed by two gloved hands. Jester’s tail lashed excitedly behind her, nearly clearing the table beside them. “You will not _believe_ how much gold those guys had, like, they kept putting it down and I _told_ them they could start small but,” she shrugged, “they were very confident.”

“Are we going to be run out of town because of you?” Molly laughed, hefting the weight of the bag in his hand. “Or would they piss themselves if they saw Yasha’s sword?”

“Or Yasha,” Jester said with a grin.

There was the loud scrape of a chair across floorboards, and when Molly glanced up next the seat beside him was empty.

“Oh, Yasha,” Jester called, “are you going to bed? Can you ask Beau if-” she trailed off as the barbarian vanished entirely into the crowd, mouth twisted in a confused frown.

“Don’t worry about her,” Molly said quickly, sliding her abandoned tankard back toward him, “she gets tired very easily. And very suddenly.” He patted the table beside him, bright smile already fitted back on his face. “The night’s still young as far as I’m concerned, though. How about you show me how in the hells you cheated so well at _marbles_?”

~ . ~ . ~ . ~

Caleb was halfway through cutting lengths of silver thread when he heard a loud thump from the hallway. He froze, listening intently, and heard the rattle of a doorknob followed by a string of curses that faded into an unintelligible drunken groan. From atop the bed, Frumpkin stopped kneading the quilt and growled softly in the direction of the door.

“Hush,” Caleb muttered, patting him gently on the head as he got to his feet. He was a little wobbly, but not drunk. Barely even tipsy anymore. He’d been counting the night in drinks rather than minutes, and he’d made it through two and a half before the night reached a head that Caleb was very comfortable not being a part of. Had she not been well on her way to unconsciousness, he could imagine Nott would have said she was proud of him, clutching his hands in hers and smiling with all her teeth. As it was, though, she just made him promise three times to not lock her out of their room before curling back up on the tabletop with a yawn.

Cautiously, he peered out into the hallway, Frumpkin wrapped protectively around his leg. He slumped back instantly in relief. “Hello, Beauregard.”

Beau grunted in reply, not bothering to look up. The toe of her boot slammed off the closed door once more before she slouched against the frame in defeat. “Fuck,” he heard her mutter softly. Then, louder, “Hey Caleb.”

“Hello,” he said cautiously. At his feet, Frumpkin slunk back into the room, apparently underwhelmed by the discovery. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” she said, rubbing a hand across her eyes. “No. Fuck, I don’t know. I think I lost the key to our room.”

“Oh,” he replied. Feeling suddenly foolish hovering in his doorway, he padded over to join her, leaning against the wall a respectful distance away. “Do you need any help?”

“Please,” she groaned, staring sullenly at the tops of her shoes. “Cast some wizard bullshit or whatever, Jester’s never gonna let me live this down otherwise.”

“Ah, I don’t actually have that spell right now,” he said, somewhat sheepishly. “But I can send for Nott,” he added quickly as she sent him a pained expression.

“Okay, yeah, cool,” she said, bobbing her head listlessly, “super cool.”

Caleb snapped his fingers, materializing his tabby on the floor between them. “Go and get Nott,” he ordered, watching as the cat’s eyes flashed briefly before he turned and scampered down the hall, disappearing down the staircase.

The silence that stretched over the two of them was painful after only a few moments. Caleb was not sure he had seen Beau so withdrawn before, arms crossed over her chest in a familiar pose but silent as she firmly examined the floorboards. Somewhere between them, Caleb could see the tenuous strands of their friendship stretched thin. Taking a deep breath, he reached out and grabbed them.

“Is everything alright?”

Beau’s head snapped up. She looked confused for a moment, eyeing him suspiciously before he saw the tension in her shoulders relax just slightly. “Uh, yeah man, I guess,” she said, voice rough with alcohol and exhaustion. “Just, you know,” she shrugged.

Caleb hesitated for a moment, tugging absently at the loose threads of his coat. “You know, Beauregard, you don’t have to tell me anything, but if you want to I am a good listener.”

She snorted softly. “Yeah?”

“Ja, because I am terrible at speaking,” he said with a faint smile. After a moment, he heard her huff out a laugh.

“Yeah, okay,” she said, running a hand across her face. “I told Fjord some shit.”

“Hm,” Caleb said after a moment of silence, unsure how to respond. Beau laughed humorlessly.

“Yeah, fuck, sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “Just like, some feelings shit, I guess? About, like,” she waved her hand vaguely behind her, “that whole… thing.”

Caleb’s eyes landed on the door behind her, on the way Beau wouldn’t meet his eyes. Something in his head caught up to him, and he felt his face flush slightly, almost in sympathy. 

“Ah,” he finally managed to get out. “I understand, I think.”

She snorted, kicking petulantly at the baseboard. “Yeah, fucking worst kept secret apparently, huh?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Caleb said quickly. He wasn’t sure if he was surprised or not, truly. He’d always somewhat imagined that she and Jester seemed unexpectedly close. It was none of his concern, of course, but it was impossible not to at least notice that all of Beau’s roughness melted away when Jester spoke. But then again, who was he, of all people, to assume he understood friendship? 

Well. He wasn’t going to be smug about it, at least.

“I am certain that things will be fine, Beauregard,” he said after a moment of silence.

“Yeah?” She laughed, looked like she wanted to say something further, and then dropped her shoulders in exhaustion instead. “Yeah, okay. Thanks Caleb,” she said quietly.

“Ja, it is nothing,” he replied. He stared at her slouched form, wondering with increasing desperation if he was expected to say more.

There was a crash and a curse from the stairwell, and Frumpkin came scrabbling back down the hall, tail bushed in fright.

“Fuck! Alright, move out of the way, I’m not drunk enough yet to do this with everyone staring at me.”

~ . ~ . ~ . ~

Jester had a secret.

It wasn’t _really_ a secret, technically. You have to lie somehow for it to be a secret, she thought, and she’d never technically lied. She’d just never explained everything to anyone, maybe.

It wasn’t even her fault, either, because she hated keeping secrets but when even _she_ didn’t understand what was wrong she didn’t know how she was supposed to tell someone else. Even the attempted confessions in her journal always ended in furious slashes of ink as she scribbled out every stupid thing she’d written. Stupid words, stupid feelings, stupid _Fjord_.

There were somethings she could say, on paper or out loud, that made sense. Fjord was her oldest friend, her first real friend. That rang clear and true, with a slight ache in her chest as she thought of how it had felt to find someone who liked her for no reason other than just because. Not because they were related or because she was small and cute or needed to be taken care of, but just because she was Jester and that was worth something.

There were other things, though, that she couldn’t put into words. Like the fact that the other night, she lay awake on her bedroll and watched his chest rise and fall unevenly beside her and she realized that she’d run away with him, if he asked. She didn’t think it even mattered if they had a _reason_ , she would have shoved everything she owned into her haversack and they could have been gone without even telling anyone.

She would have done it. She would have done it and she didn’t even think she would have felt bad .

(Okay, she’d tell Beau. Fjord might be her oldest friend but Beau was her _roommate_ and the idea of hurting her made Jester feel like she’d done something awful, like kicked a puppy or pressed a dagger into someone as they slept.)

Maybe she wasn’t in love. Even if as she thought it, she bit her lip and shook her head. Thinking it felt wrong but denying it felt worse, somehow. 

She’d never been _in love_ before. She knew what it felt like to want to kiss a cute girl or a pretty boy or any number of attractive people, and yeah, she knew what it felt like to want to take one of them up to her room and have a really fun night. No strings attached, just cute people having a good time together. She really liked living her life that way, actually.

It would be _so easy_ if the only thing she cared about was that Fjord had a nice ass, or whatever. (Which he did, obviously. It was like, unfairly nice, really.) She’d thought lots of people were hot before, that doesn’t mean there had to be _feelings_ involved. 

Except usually, she could flirt with those people without them doing things like forgetting how to speak and tripping over themselves. Fjord was not looking for a quick bit of fun, not with her or anybody else, she was pretty sure she had figured that out at least. She wasn’t sure that he was looking for something serious either, though. She wasn’t sure what he wanted at _all_ and it made her want to grab him by his shirt and ask him to tell her what his deal was right now before she died of old age trying to find out.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t _fair_ because here she was blaming Fjord when she did not even understand what she wanted either. Yes, she probably wanted to kiss him, and yes she’d thought more than once about watch shifts that end with the two of them tangled up in her bedroll, but what then? It was easy when it was pretty people she was probably never going to see again. She was stuck with this pretty person.

“Yeah,” Beau said from the bed, “that does kinda suck.”

“I _know_ ,” Jester groaned, pulling her last boot off with a grunt of annoyance. “I don’t know what I am supposed to do about this.” She tugged viciously at the buckles on her skirt, yanking them loose one by one.

“Haven’t you ever had like, a boyfriend before?” Beau asked. “Or, uh, girlfriend?”

“No, neither!” She huffed, kicking off her skirts and wrenching her shawl up over her head. “Not like, a _real_ one.”

“Shit,” Beau replied eloquently, leaning back against the wall.

“Yeah,” Jester sighed, shoving her clothes into a rough pile by her bag. She’d wash them in the morning, maybe. If she remembered.

“I’m, uh, glad you told me though,” Beau said, watching as Jester carefully unhooked the jewelry from her horns. “Like, that you trust me, I guess.”

“Of course I told you, you are my best friend,” Jester said, pausing for a moment in surprise. “I tell you everything.”

“Yeah, I know, too fuckin’ much sometimes,” Beau snorted, and Jester laughed. “For real though, I know I’m not like, great at this shit, but I’m gonna do my best to help you, okay? Roommate honor, or whatever, right?”

Jester giggled, but couldn’t help the bloom of warmth in her chest. “You are very sweet when you’re drunk, Beau,” she said, and saw Beau square her shoulders proudly in reply. “Now, move over and let me in.”

“Don’t tell me what t’ do,” Beau yawned, but rolled over obligingly as Jester clambered onto the mattress beside her. They’d started renting one-bed rooms after the second bed went untouched more than a few nights in a row. It just felt right, sleeping wrapped in someone else’s warmth. Beau would never admit it, but she was a cuddly sleeper, and it was kind of unfairly cute.

“Goodnight,” Jester sang, pulling the ratty quilt up around herself. She tucked her legs up carefully against Beau’s, knowing she was much warmer than her human roommate.

“Go to sleep,” Beau grumbled irritably, but a moment later she rolled over and threw an arm around Jester’s waist.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter written by the wonderful MamzelleCombeferre (@mamzellecombeferre)

Everyone, with the exception of Jester, woke the next day in varying states of hungover. Nott awoke to the sound of rooster calls, her ears perked up and twitching. She yawned, rolling over and into Caleb’s curled legs. The wizard seemed to be sleeping soundly still, though Nott was unsure of when he had finally retired. Her memories of the night before were hazy at best and nonexistant at worst. Though Nott had retired earlier than the rest of the Nein, she had easily drunk more than Beau and Molly combined, aided by her never-empty flask and a need to drown out her growing anxiety about the task the Gentleman had given them.

She remembered picking the lock of Beau’s room at one point, but after that nothing but the soft bed where she rested now, the last of the pleasantly floaty feeling of tipsiness clinging to the edges of her consciousness. She rolled over and nearly off the bed entirely before catching herself on a corner post. The sun was not quite up, but they had agreed that the earlier start would be better for, in Fjord’s words, “gettin’ this done quick and easy like”. That agreement seemed to have gone by the wayside though, as it became clear right away that Nott was the only member of their group currently awake.

She shivered, pulling her cloak around her, the hood tugged up over her large ears. The porcelain mask was firmly tied around the lower half of her face as she went to slip out of the room to head downstairs, quietly so as not to wake her wizard friend. Frumpkin snoozed happily on his chest, and Nott couldn’t help the small smile under her mask as she looked at the peaceful scene. 

The tavern was noticeably warmer than the upstairs rooms. A fire burned low, mostly embers and kindling sticks, but clearly arcane in nature as it heated the room steadily. Nott snagged the table nearest the hearth with a perhaps unnecessary display of possessiveness, considering there were only three other patrons present. She tugged her hood closer to her face, making sure to face away from the others toward the flames as she waited for her companions.

Within the hour the rest of the Nein had filtered downstairs to grab seats at the table. Jester was first, a skip in her step even this early. The others followed closely behind looking much worse for wear. Yasha and Caleb shared a meaningful glance as they watched Jester skip over to sit on the bench opposite of the goblin.

“Good morning Nott!” She said, smiling brightly. Up close her eyes looked more tired.

“Good morning Jester,” Nott replied, her voice slightly muffled by the mask and more subdued. 

Caleb sat next, scooching closest to Nott where she sat on the furthest edge of the bench. Nott checked him over, looking for any signs to gauge how the wizard’s night had been. He looked the same as usual, which was to say erring on the side of terrible. His pale skin was marred by patches of reddish beard growing back in uneven stubble from the last time Yasha had helped him shave. The bags under his eyes looked slightly darker than usual, and if the way he pinched the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb meant anything, he had a bad headache.

Still, taking in her tense posture, he asked her with a flash of concern, “Are you alright, mein liebling?” His voice was only one step above a whisper. She smiled under her mask. “I’m fine Caleb,” she said, taking a sip from her flask. “Just couldn’t sleep anymore.” The wizard looked down at her with something approaching fondness and understanding. Warmth bloomed in her chest.

All settled at the table, the rest of the group looked equally worse for the wear. Yasha was pointedly avoiding Jester as much as possible, looking painfully nervous. When the cleric asked her to pass the salt, she flushed deeply and nearly spilled the shaker all over the platter of cheese that sat in the middle of the table. Jester hadn’t seemed to notice Yasha’s increased awkwardness, though Beau clearly had. The monk simmered between Fjord and Caleb, shoving bacon and eggs in her mouth with an aggressiveness that was as impressive as it was intimidating. She and Molly filled the silence with sniping as the purple tiefling kept trying to steal food off her plate. Both looked paler than usual.

Fjord was withdrawn, clearly tired and frayed at the nerves. He hadn’t said anything all morning except to order food and copious amounts of coffee, and when he thought no one was looking he worried at his tusks. Nott should probably have told him to stop, but who was she to deny someone their coping habits, healthy or not? She took another swig of her flask, making yet another mental note to thank Pumat again once they were back in Zadash.

A cloud of tension swirled around the table. This job was easy, too easy for comfort. It set Nott on edge thinking about it, and it seemed the rest of the group had picked up the same anxieties. Breakfast as a whole was a drawn out affair. Coffee and various breakfast foods were consumed as slowly as possible without being unreasonable. Jester kept up a steady chatter throughout, though no one else seemed eager to engage. By this point the last of Nott’s buzz had faded into an ache behind her eyes and a twisting feeling in her gut that the greasy food only aggravated.

Finally, after Beau and Molly’s glaring and verbal sparring almost came to blows, Fjord stood in a huff. “Enough, you two,” he said, sounding every inch the long-suffering father he’d once pretended to be in Labenda. “I’m going to grab the horses if you can keep from tearing each other down for five fuckin’ minutes.”

Molly and Beau looked properly shamed now, faint blushes showing darkly on their ashen faces.

Jester sighed, closed her journal with a soft thud, and stood. Stretching her arms wide over head with a yawn, she said, “I’m going to go help Fjord.” They left the tavern, leaving the rest of them to stew in the leftover bad mood. Beau started grabbing was left of their breakfast, shoving it in her pockets like it was going to disappear quick if she didn’t. Molly rolled his eyes, but said nothing, just stood and walked towards the door himself.

“I’m… um… just going to hang back here for a second,” Yasha muttered, standing abruptly and dashing over to the bar where she stood staring intently at the counter until everyone had gathered their things and left.

What a grand start to the day.

Once gathered in the cart, Nott burrowed under her cloak and announced that she was going to get some more sleep, don’t wake her unless you want a crossbow bolt in your neck, etc. Caleb smiled softly in that way of his before riding up to the front to ride besides Beau. Jester hung towards the front with Fjord, and Molly settled on the back to keep watch while Yasha rode beside. 

The day and just begun, but wow did it fucking suck already.

\----------

Fjord couldn’t concentrate. The road stretched out on either side of them as they rode past the last dregs of the outskirts of town. The sun was halfway risen, and with it came a slight warmth that tempered the bite of the cold he hated so much. There was very little he missed about the coast overall, but the warmth was certainly one of them. Caleb had warned them all weeks ago of the harsh nature of the Northern winters, but somewhere inside of himself Fjord must have thought he was overreacting at least a little.

If this was what it felt like already though, perhaps the description of long, grueling, damp winters had been less of an overstatement than he’d anticipated.

He looked to his left then his right, checking for other travelers. His eyes caught on the blue tiefling next to him instead, heart fluttering lightly as a bump in the road knocked their shoulders together. The day had started roughly, with everyone in a bad mood as they prepared to finish the Gentleman’s task. If the morning had been dark, tense, and cold, Jester was the exact opposite. The cleric was bright, open, and warm.

His best friend. His…crush. He hated that word, but there wasn’t one better for these kinds of feelings. The fluttering in his stomach when she touched him, the ways she got under his skin far too easily, how he could never really say no to her. He had worked so long to make sure no one could get to him like that, and then this tiny blue tiefling woman barreled into his life and complicated everything.

And worse, he couldn’t begrudge her that for a minute.

She sat towards the edge of the driver’s bench of the cart, legs dangling off the side and doodling on the corner of a writing-covered page of her journal. Fjord wondered near constantly what she was writing in there but could never bring himself to ask. Maybe it meant he didn’t really want to know, or maybe it just meant she hadn’t managed to circumvent all his instincts towards propriety yet.

The sun was fully risen when they decided to take a short break. Molly and Caleb wandered off to take a piss, while Beau climbed the nearest tree to look out over the road ahead. Yasha tended to the horses with a gentleness unexpected of someone with her size and strength.

Fjord walked around just to keep moving. His legs were stiff and his lower back ached, and even though he’d had more coffee than them all that morning his head still hurt like a bitch.

Jester smiled at him as she hopped off the cart into the tall grass of the field. For a second all was right with the world. Then a small wave of nausea washed over him with a particularly strong throb of pain and he grimaced.

“Are you alright Fjord?” Jester asked, quickly closing the gap between them. Her voice was what passed for tender with Jester, Wildemount’s most reluctant cleric.

“Yeah I’m fine. Just a little hungover still from last night.” The nausea didn’t stick, thank gods, and after a few minutes of breathing through his nose his stomach settled.

“Okay, well if you start to feel worse just let me know,” she said, lightly tapping his cheek before walking off to help Yasha with horses.

Fjord’s stomach twisted again, but this time for very different reasons.

\-------------

The rest of their travels went smoothly. The flat stretch of horizon was unbroken for much of it, until they reached a line of trees just before nightfall. They settled eventually in a large clearing, setting up their tents and cooking a mediocre stew before retiring for the night. Yasha volunteered for first watch and Caleb quickly seconded, immediately setting up on a log next to the fire with his books splayed open on his lap. Yasha sat carefully across from him, and slowly the others filtered into their tents to sleep.

The watch was silent for half the night, the only noise an owl that startled them briefly. When Caleb finally spoke she jumped.

“I am happy for them, you know. The blue ones. I can’t say I understand, but I am happy,” the wizard said, nonchalantly, as though he hadn’t dropped a boomstick in the middle of a quiet evening.

“I-I’m not sure I understand,” she sputtered, heat spreading across the back of her neck and over her cheeks.

Caleb looked up from his books now. He cocked his head to side. “Jester and Beau. They haven’t said anything of course, but it’s hard to miss how close they are.”

Yasha couldn’t say anything. The words dried up in the back of her throat, replaced with something bitter. The wizard was impressively smart, from what she’d seen, but not very observant. If Caleb had noticed then it must be true. Finally she managed to get out, “That is…that is good for them.”

Caleb’s head tilted even further, ear nearly touching shoulder now. “You are not? Happy for them, that is?”

And Yasha really didn’t know how to respond to that, so she stood abruptly, brushing imaginary dirt off her pants. “I’m going to walk the perimeter. Um, feel free to stay by the fire.” She hurried to the tree line surrounding the camp and walked.

This reaction was so uncharacteristic of her. There was no reason for her to act this way. If anything, it simply confirmed what she had already known: that Jester was too good for her and had chosen someone better. She should be happy. Jester would be if the situation was different. But she couldn’t swallow down the shame, and something else, something more caustic.

Molly would call it jealousy, but that couldn’t be right.

No that couldn’t be right at all.

The rest of the watch passed in easy, if not comfortable silence.

The morning was even more tense than the previous. A general sense of unease washed through the camp as they ate breakfast and packed up their tents. Yasha knew she blushed every time Beau or Jester looked her way, but she could handle it. She could, even as Molly gave her that pitying look she hated so much.

She and Fjord took care of the tents as the others readied the horses.

“I don’t feel good about this,” Fjord said as he folded the tent cloth. “It’s too simple. There has to be a catch.”

Yasha nodded. “I agree. These things…they are rarely so easy.” It was a lesson they had all learned at some point, and Fjord perhaps understood better than some.

“We should stay close,” he said, loading the cloths onto the cart now. Yasha tossed the tent poles on top of the pile. Addressing the group now, he continues, “No rushing in.”

Everyone voiced or gestured their agreement, and they set off on the road towards their destination, a nervous shadow trailing overhead.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter written by the talented everything555everything (@criticaldemiplane)
> 
> There is some slight magical mind-manipulation in this chapter, if that bothers anyone

Despite the god-awful atmosphere of the past few days, Molly thought he was managing rather well, thank you very much. The tiefling sat wrapped in his tapestry at the back of the cart, studiously buffing his nails. Next to him Caleb was passed out, head tilted back and snoozing. The rest of the party was more or less awake, with Fjord and Jester leading the cart on deeper into the Northern forest.

Molly’s tail flicked back and forth in irritation as the tense silence continued to stretch like stale taffy. He had thought that yesterday was bad enough, what with Beau pushing his buttons and the endless road. Molly hated tension of any kind, and it was the worst when it descended on people he cared about. Drama might have been fine and good, but this wasn’t the type he wanted to be involved with.

He was leaning at just the right angle to be able to glance back towards the front of the cart at where Fjord and Jester talked softly. At least those two were getting on well, even heading towards something more. Ever since that bar conversation he’d had with Fjord the half-orc had been noticeably more touchy about talking about the others. Molly honestly didn’t remember the whole bit about that night. He vaguely remembered wheedling Beau’s interests out of Fjord and promptly staggering over to Yasha to more-or-less relay the information.

Molly looks down at his lap. In hindsight, maybe he should have dialed back the bullshit charm just a smidge for that conversation. All of the dancing around each other that the Nein were currently performing seemed to stem back from there. Possibly Yasha was mad at him, for whatever he said? That couldn’t be it, Molly did remember her discomfort but she hadn’t been _angry._ It couldn’t have been totally his fault, whatever was going on. That was the worst thing-- Molly didn’t know what was happening, and he didn’t like that at all. Frankly, he was sick of it. 

Obviously, the hunt was on. Molly huffed and Caleb jerked next to him, blinking wildly until Molly patted his shoulder.

“Whoa there!” Fjord called from the front and the cart ground to a stop. Jester sprang off her seat next to him and waved to the others.

Ahead of them, a good hundred feet from the road a small gully had been formed from the creek at its base. Barely visible were the remains of an old campsite. The tents at the bank were covered in debris, a good few of them collapsed, and everything was slightly waterlogged.

“The creek must’ve flooded,” reported Fjord as they all crept towards the camp. Molly used his swords to brace himself against the steep bank as he leaped down, frowning at the crumbling dirt. He didn’t like being level with soil like this, even if the sky still greyed overhead. 

Everything in this forest seemed to be dead or dormant, despite the light of day. The creek was composed of grey and brown rocks, although strangely the water skipped on merrily. Well, at least something was enjoying itself.

“Find anything yet?” He called to the others, who had begun searching the camp.

“Uh, nein,” said Caleb. From the tent he was in front of Beau emerged, carrying a slimy quarterstaff.

“There’s nothing good here,” Beau complained.

“Guess our instinct was wrong,” said Fjord in a cautious tone, still glancing about the ruined camp. 

Nott piped up from where she was poking at the muddy remains of the fire pit, “Isn’t that good, though? We just need to collect all the weapons and head back. We get paid, too!”

Fjord and Beau nodded in agreement, Caleb stepping over to Nott. Molly sighed. If the mission was easy enough, then hopefully they’d have peace and downtime on the way back so he could start playing detective.

From the other end of the camp, Yasha screamed. 

Faster than Molly thought humans could move, Beau sprinted across the leaf-mulch ground to rip open the tent that Yasha had been exploring. Molly hurried after, activating one of his swords in panic, the rest of the group moving as one to answer their friend’s call.

The soaked canvas of the tent landed heavily on the ground a few meters away. In her adrenaline Beau had clean ripped it off its poles and now the view inside was clear. 

Yasha stood in front of a heavyset wooden trunk, an expression of rage on her face, her sword pointing at a smoking object on the ground. Said object was silver-metal and twisted, and quite clearly beaten to all shit. Molly recognized the smoke as the remnants of the dispelling magic on Yasha’s greatsword.

“I touched it,” explained Yasha, breathing heavily, “and it _bit_ me.”

Jester pushed past the crowd to stand in the small tent with Yasha and oddly, the barbarian stuttered something unintelligible and backed out. In front of Molly, Beau seemed shell-shocked too, but he didn’t have time to dwell on that before Jester spoke.

The cleric let out a loud gasp and hopped up from where she had been peering over the chest. “You guys! It’s treasure! It’s so much treasure!” 

Nott’s ears visibly perked from where she was hiding behind Molly, but Fjord talked before anyone could get too excited.

“Now hold on, Jes, let’s wait a moment. I don’t want you, or anyone getting hurt.” Fjord’s words seemed painfully earnest. He turned to where Yasha had backed out fully to where the creek cut through, pointing back to the still-smoking object. “What happened, Yasha?”

Molly folded his swords back as Yasha spoke, in her trademark calm tone but somehow unnerved. “I opened the trunk… it wasn’t trapped. When I did a cup fell out and I caught it by instinct. Then… this.” She raised her left hand, where against the pale skin a nasty red burn had imprinted itself.

“Oh, Yasha don’t worry! I have healing spells today.” Jester waved a hand, holy symbol glowing, and the burn faded to just a pink irritation. Yasha offered Jester a sincere smile that Molly watched carefully.

“Nice, Jester,” said Beau, playfully bumping the tiefling’s shoulder. Yasha’s smile melted away like candle-wax.

_Interesting,_ thought Molly, eyes narrowed. Behind him Fjord and Caleb were discussing the trunk, and eventually Caleb gestured for the others to stay back. A small shimmer appeared in the air as he detected the magic around the chest and the many items within. Immediately Caleb staggered back, covering his eyes.

“Ow. Ow, uh, it is all, it is all magic. That was bright.” Caleb let the spell drop and shook his head as Nott anxiously offered him a healing potion. “I am alright. But it seems that nearly every item in that is magical in some way.”

“Guess our instinct was right after all,” muttered Beau. “This must be the real loot we have to pick up.”

“I agree,” said Fjord, jumping back to his leadership role. “Jester, Yasha, can you give me a hand with this?”

Jester smiled widely at Fjord and jumped beside him to help lift the trunk. There was no response from the creek. Molly called, “Yasha, darling? We need to get this thing out of here.”

Yasha snapped her gaze away from - something? - and stuffed her hand into her pocket before joining the group to lift the chest. She took the side far across from Jester, Beau almost reaching out to help beside her before realizing they obviously had it covered. Together the trunk was carried gingerly out of the frozen forest, and they piled it onto the cart next to the rest of their supplies.

As Caleb muttered a few incantations to lock the chest, and everyone else started preparing for the journey back, Molly sat reserved. He kicked his feet up onto a pile of blankets and lounged back, frowning. The tense atmosphere might have lessened, sure, but people were acting weird. _Yasha_ was acting weird. The barbarian walked quietly at the back of the cart, even more silent than normal.

Molly felt the last shred of inactivity evaporate from his body like an uncaring rainforest plant. If something was wrong with his best friend… He popped all of his joints, yawned loudly for good measure, and settled down in the meager sunlight for a nap.

He’d have more privacy to talk tonight.

\--

Seven hours later Molly volunteered for first watch, citing the excellent rest he’d gotten during the day. Fortunately with a quick wink sent her direction Yasha immediately volunteered beside him. They often partnered together, Molly usually reveling in the quietness of their watches. (He’d never admit it, but it was nice not to talk sometimes.)

However, the streak was about to be broken. The tiefling shifted on the damp log in front of the fire pit, ready for action. He was going to get to the bottom of this, damn it. Yasha hadn’t talked to a single soul all day that he had seen, and hopefully his friendship would bring her out of her shell.

Yasha lumbered up to him and sat down on the other end of the log, bringing out her small book. Adorably, she’d begun to take tiny sketches down here and there. Molly wasn’t sure why she had picked up illustration, but it certainly seemed to make his friend happy.

Strangely, as Yasha turned to grab a small charcoal pencil a glint of blue appeared around her neck. Molly tilted his head, staring at the blue beading that disappeared into the front of her shirt. Oh, well. Yasha’s sudden interest in jewelry was none of his business, either. What mattered was-

“Say, Yasha dear,” began Molly. “Everyone’s been acting a little tense, huh?”

Yasha nodded, pausing with pencil above paper. “Yes… everyone seems annoyed. Like when you fought Beau. That breakfast was really unbearable, I’m glad it got more or less resolved. I don’t want the group to fall apart or be permanently affected. It seems a little better. Although it hasn’t gotten totally better, and my own mood has been plummeting recently-” she broke herself off with furrowed eyebrows.

Molly stared at his friend, mouth hanging slightly open. Yasha could talk when she needed to, yes, but he’d never heard her say that much unprompted. Certainly not with the rushing quality she had taken on in the last few sentences. It was bizarre.

What was more worrying, her actual words. Molly flicked his tail through the dewy grass, thinking hard about what he would say. Eventually, “I’m sorry that you aren’t feeling well.” He watched Yasha through his low tone, but the aasimar sat perfectly still. “Listen, Yasha, friend… if i’ve done anything to upset you, you would tell me, yes?”

Yasha’s frozen demeanor broke as she jerked her head to look at Molly. “Of course,” she said, with her old fierceness. “I have not forgotten our time in the circus, even if we’re travelling with these… Nein, now. I couldn’t forget those days after we found you, when you started speaking again, when I helped you with your name. You have always been so understanding of me. You’ve always been a shoulder for me to cry on, and I am beyond thankful that you’re in my life, Molly.”

Molly felt his heart burst into warmth, intensely touched. “The same from me,” he said, not able to keep the happiness out of his voice. Then his mood dimmed again. “Do you need that right now? I know… _something_ is wrong, dear. A shoulder to cry on?”

Yasha stayed facing him, but her gaze turned distant. The silence stretched on, and Molly let the night sounds wash over them for a bit. He understood, maybe more than most, the need to process information.

“I’m… not sure,” said Yasha, sounding confused. Before Molly could respond she continued with that same rushed pace. “I know that I will be alright with time, I’ll be protected, but I can’t help but feel bad in the moment. I’m worried that the group will fall apart because of my selfish emotions, and I know I should probably leave because of it, but what Caleb said just made me so upset and I’m very lost and I don’t think this is something I should go to the Stormlord about, he doesn’t deal in crushes but I’m so confused because you _said_ that Jester liked me and now that she is with Beau I don’t know how to reorient myself with the dynamics because I like her a lot and everyone else has been so tense that I think I’ve messed this up somehow and-”

As Yasha babbled on, pace becoming more and more frantic, Molly suddenly noticed the front of her shirt glowing a bright blue. His eyes already wide with pure alarm at her outburst, he quickly connected some dots and slapped a hand over his friend’s mouth.

Yasha didn’t fight it, as shocked as Molly was. She looked down to where the blue glowed on her chest and grabbed at the beaded neck cord, pulling a glittering charm from beneath her shirt. Molly’s hand closed around it and he counted down a silent _one, two, three!_ before he removed his hand and tore the strange amulet from around her neck. 

Immediately Yasha started to breathe heavily as if she had run a great distance in full plate armor. Molly held the necklace away from her, afraid of side effects. Nothing seemed to happen to him as he clasped the strange glass charm, and eventually Yasha recovered. “Thank you,” she said, a little breathlessly.

“Of course,” Molly replied slowly. “I don’t know what just happened but I’m glad you’re alright.” He held the amulet up to the flickering orange firelight. It was a small glass orb patterned like a greenhouse window, attached to a pretty beaded cord. The cerulean caught the light strangely as Molly noted that the orb contained a few drops of gently sloshing water, or at least colorless liquid. A carved inscription, so tiny he had to squint, simply read _Brook._

“Where did you get this?” He marvelled. “I don’t like it.”

“It was in the cup that burned me,” choked out Yasha. “It seemed… harmless.” For some reason, she had flushed an unflattering deep red. Now why would she do that? Molly tilted his head, studying the strange babble-amulet. _Dangerous,_ he realized, _if in the wrong hands._ Not everyone could bullshit for hours like him, but it seemed even more sinister, compelling not only talking but truth-telling…

As Yasha nervously pet her shawl next to him, Molly’s brain finally caught up with what she had said. What she had confessed.

Oh.

_Oh._

“Oh,” he said loudly, fresh shock rolling through his senses. At once his admittedly already incomplete understanding of the group’s crushes re-arraigned itself to an even more confusing chart. 

“You like _Jester?_ ” he burst out. Yasha hunched in on herself, silent, and now free to waffle with her words now that the babble-charm was gone.

“Well, yes, I… I find her attractive.” She ducked her head away from him. “I-I thought you knew. I reacted, um, quite strongly back at the tavern.” Yasha swiveled and fixed large eyes on the mortal man that was Mollymauk. “Didn’t you tell me that she was, well, interested?”

Molly’s web of confusion only intensified as he struggled to remember the finer details of the night. None were forthcoming. Jester, really? It was obvious to Molly that the woman was tripping over herself for Fjord. Had Yasha said that their cleric was with _Beau?_ That couldn’t have been right, not at all. 

“Wait,” he said, holding out his hands palm-down, the necklace wrapped around his long fingers. “I’m sorry, this is all very confusing. I think that everyone might have… different perceptions about what’s going on, too.” His thoughts raced around each other and crashed headfirst into a solid wall. “I’m sorry, but could you repeat what you just said? About the who’s-with-who bit. I don’t want to make you tell me something you obviously weren’t going to, but I want to help.” Molly nodded at Yasha. “I’d like to help.”

The barbarian took a deep breath, nodding back. Molly, despite the many other emotions battling inside him, felt touched at her trust. 

“I… like Jester. Romantically. Um, as a crush, I think.” This was already hard for Yasha, and Molly tried his best to be an attentive listener with eyes forward and tail at rest. She continued: “I thought that, that in the bar you had said that Jester liked me back. But when we were on watch, well, Caleb said that she was with Beau. Now I don’t know what to think.”

“He’s wrong,” Molly said firmly. “I don’t think Jester, bless her heart, is capable of keeping that kind of secret. But, Yasha, I didn’t say that Jester liked you.” Molly pressed on, despite the sensitive information. Honestly was more important than the group potentially tearing itself apart over this. “I meant to say that _Beau_ liked you.”

Yasha’s mouth hung open, her blush fortunately faded to a light pink. “Ah,” she said eventually. “I mean- Beau? Are you sure?”

“Beau confessed it to Fjord.” Molly shrugged. “She wouldn’t know that you know.”

“This is confusing,” muttered Yasha. “I don’t even know what I know.”

Molly sighed loudly. The sounds of the night continued for a short time, an owl hooting far off into the treeline. “I’m sorry, dear.” He decided to spare her the fact of Fjord and Jester’s mutual interest, at least for the night. It seemed poorly timed. “The question is how we fix this.”

“I think that we will all have to talk,” whispered Yasha, clearly pained. Molly winced, dread already filling his heart. Yasha continued: “We could… ask Jester to make us all truthful again, just enough so it’s all cleared up. I think that we could deal with the aftermath.”

Molly wasn’t sure he wanted to go to Jester. Not only would it be intensely awkward for Yasha, but he couldn’t help remember the last time a zone of truth had been cast around them. It was not as if he had many secrets to hide, but being grilled for information, being helpless in that way really sucked. He couldn’t imagine the clusterfuck if all of them, with their own raging personalities, the many more secrets, had to be truthful to each other all at once. Maybe as a backup, but first...

_Beau._ This whole tangled web had started with Beau’s confession to Fjord. For better or worse, the unpleasant one was the crux of the matter. Perhaps a kind of reverse-engineering could be reached? Finally, Molly reached his decision.

“Yasha, why did you hold on to this thing?” He swung the babble-charm in front of the firelight again. 

“It’s beautiful,” said Yasha softly. “I was going to give it to Jester.”

Molly felt his heart break a little and cursed their whole situation. He shook his head and adopted the same easygoing, charming drawl that was his signature. “Oh, give it to Beau instead.”

Yasha’s eyebrows dropped in confusion. “Beau?”

“Yes,” said Molly. “Trust me. I think it would clear up some things.” More dire truth-practices could always been reached later, after all. He patted his friend on the back, reaching up a little, and then stood, cracking his back. “Oh, look at that,” he said. “Our watch is almost over.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter written by the amazing Flavortext (@osroshallward)

Yasha wouldn’t say she _cornered_ Beau in their room when they stopped halfway back to Zadash, but she was aware that leaning in the doorframe blocked Beau’s exit, and Beau’s eyes flitted to the window for a moment before she painted on a grin and leaned on her staff. 

“Something up?” Beau asked. Yasha fiddled with the necklace in her pocket. Being under the...truth spell? Whatever it was, had felt weird. Not like she was being forced to say anything, just that when she opened her mouth she suddenly _wanted_ to, wanted Molly to understand all the turmoil going on in her head. Part of her didn’t want to do that to Beau, though. It felt not quite friendly, and if Beau found out Yasha knew, she would almost certainly be mad. But the creeping jealous feeling under her skin was still there, and Yasha just needed to know, hear from Beau’s own mouth that she and Jester weren’t together. She could handle Jester not liking her, she’d been quelling those feelings for months already, but the jealousy made her feel sick. 

“I uh, found this at the campsite. It kinda matches your wardrobe so I thought you might want it.” Yasha thrust the necklace out to Beau. The human took a step forward and picked it up, swinging the chain in front of her for a second. 

“Woah, thanks.” Beau blushed, looking up at Yasha for a long moment before putting the chain on. Yasha bit her lip and...nothing happened. 

“I was going to go down and get some dinner, uh,” Beau gestured to where Yasha was blocking the door. “Want to join me?” Yasha forced herself to breathe normally and didn’t move. 

“I wanted to apologize. For being kinda cold, recently,” Yasha started. Beau sat back on her heels a bit and crossed her arms. 

“Look, if I made you uncomfortable, that’s totally on me and I’m sorry, just maybe, tell me next time? I’ll stop with the flirting. Tt was silly, I shouldn't have started.” Beau stared intently off past Yasha’s shoulder. 

“No, it wasn’t that,” Yasha sighed. “Just- you and Jester?” She forced the words out like knives. Beau suddenly met her eyes. 

“Huh?”

Yasha tumbled over herself to continue, “I mean, you are so close, and Caleb said something-” Yasha cuts herself off at the continued tight look of confusion on Beau’s face. 

“You thought, oh.” Beau suddenly looked like she was trying not to laugh and Yasha wanted to curl in on herself. Beau let out a breath and composed herself. “No, I mean, she’s great, I’d be down, but we’re not, no.” Beau opened her mouth and then closes it again. Her brow furrows. “Here I thought Fjord had somehow told you what I told him and you were trying to send me a message.” Beau laughed, then shook her head. “I mean, were you? Why did thinking me and Jester were together upset you so much?”

“Um.” Yasha flounders. She’d gotten what she wanted, she guessed. It didn’t help the twisting in her chest but at least it was confirmation. Now she just had to get the necklace back and field...the rest of Beau’s sentence. “Jealousy?” Honesty is good right? Except her brain caught up with her words a moment too late, and a sudden _look_ crossed Beau’s face, and that was _not_ the right thing to say because of course Beau would think she meant her. The look of hope that momentarily crossed the monks face hurt Yasha almost more than the realization that Molly had meant her and not Jester had. 

“Well, um,” Beau shifted, almost seeming to relax a little. 

“Sorry, I have to go.” Yasha panicked, turned on her heel, and took the stairs two at a time. She didn’t breath again until she was in the alley behind the inn, and once she could she let her feet move on their own, walked until the dirt of the town’s roads changed to grassland, and then a little more. It only occurred to her when she looked up and saw the sunset that she left Beau with the necklace. 

/////

Beau was still reeling when she walked downstairs for dinner. She asked Jester as she sat down if Yasha came back, but was met with a shrug. 

“That makes me sad, I think I scared her.” Well, she hadn’t meant to say that, and all the rest of the Nein’s eyes immediately snapped toward her in confusion. “She gave me this necklace, and I thought she was mad at me because of the flirting but I think she actually said she likes me? But she thought Jester and I were together, if you can believe that.” Beau had a look of mild desperation on her face, trying to stop her mouth from saying words and failing. Molly had his head in his hands, stifling giggles. Jester tilted her head. 

“Why would she think that?” She asks, with a faintly confused laugh. “I mean, we would be a cute couple of course, but we _aren’t_.”

Caleb, flushed, raises his hand. “I may have gotten the wrong impression somehow.” He pushed his food around on the plate. Molly’s head hit the table. 

“This is a _disaster._ Beau, give that here.” He lunged across the table to try and grab the necklace. 

“Hey! This was a gift, c’mon!” Beau dodged, clutching the charm. 

Molly grunted in annoyance and gave a nod to the man sitting next to her. “Mind helping me out here?”

“Alright, Beau, that’s enough.” Fjord grabbed the chain on the back of her neck and lifted it off before she could duck away. There was a blue shimmer, and Beau took a sudden deep breath. 

“What the fuck. Was that.” She was still holding the charm, and rolled it around her palm curiously. Caleb coughed. 

“It’s definitely magic. I can identify it?” Beau passed the necklace down without complaint and there was a moment of tense silence as Caleb took out his pearl and focused, before he dropped the chain to the table. 

“That is not a nice spell.” He touched the necklace very carefully, pushing the little water filled bead over and over. “It is called Brook, it makes you...overshare, tell the truth. Until you cannot eat or drink or breath, just talk. It gets worse the longer you wear it. A few days will kill you.” He glanced around somewhat desperately. “We need to - hold onto this, I think. Somewhere safe.”

“Give it to me,” Jester prompted almost immediately, pulling her bag from under the table. Caleb carefully deposited it with the end of his fork, like it would burn him.

“Damn, okay, we should like, promise not to use that on eachother. I’m sure Yasha didn’t know.” Beau scratched her arm, reflexively looking towards the door in hopes that the woman wouldl show up. Molly groaned, horns scraping the wood. 

“I may have...figured that out. And told her to give it to you.” It was Molly’s turn to dodge Beau’s blow. “I thought it would clear things up!”

“Fuck. But, she said she was jealous, of me and Jester?” Beau asked, a little lower. Molly put his head back on the table. 

“Talk to her, it’s not my place.” 

Beau sighed, no longer hungry, but took two pieces of bread and walked out of the inn. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter will be up sometime in the next few days, as it's currently still being finished up. In the meantime, we hope you've enjoyed our story so far!


End file.
